


kids with guns (they have something to say)

by bicboy



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Murder, clementine is too old for this shit, killing someone without a shirt, vague mentions of other telltale walking dead characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicboy/pseuds/bicboy
Summary: What happens when a 6ft man tries to take advantage of a little girl?He gets what he deserves.[A look into how the world has worn Clementine down to sharp edges.]





	kids with guns (they have something to say)

So far in her life, Clementine has been provided with two constants - the dead are dangerous, and people are even more so. The good people always die or their lights fizzle out, smothered by the suffocating darkness the rest of the world is plunged in. It's always the same with these people, the good people; they die before they lose their morale, or their morale dies before they do. And now, almost a decade into this forsaken apocalypse, all the good people have been weeded out. Good intentions snuffed, the survival of the planet is no longer an inhibition. Left with nothing more than survival of the self, the world has been picked clean of kind people. Sometimes, Clementine worries that she's been sucked into this vast majority. If there is no one good left, then how in fact could she be well herself? She has no answer, doesn't look for one any more either.

There's a shred of humanity in her, she feels it somewhere deep in her core, but she wonders if that's how everyone feels. A swell of guilt, a pang of misery from all the things done and lost. Of all the people lost, of all the people killed by the dead. Of the people killed by her own hand, shaking and trembling behind the trigger with fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Clementine screws her eyes shut at the memory. What would he think of her now? Not necessarily walker blood under her nails, dirt caked on her face and her hair too short, disheveled and with a heavy heart. The blood of so many on one hand, the blood of so much on the other. The lost girl turns her eyes to the sky, remembering a time she thought he was watching over her. A nice thought as it is, she knows that she is not the same little girl. Knows that he would not recognize her. After losing her picture of him, she's not so sure she would recognize him either. She swallows thickly around a lump in her throat.

Walking along the paved road from a lifetime long forgotten, Clementine keeps her face to the sky. She watches as dark clouds roll over head, slowly but surely, and briefly she feels a jolt of excitement. When the first water droplet lands against her cheek she nearly screams with joy, something she hasn't considered in a long time. Quickly, she shrugs off her backpack and takes out the thermos she'd found in an old pick-up truck months back. She pops the cap off and sets the thermos on the pavement just as the rain begins its heavy fall. Elated, Clementine holds her arms over her head, basking silently in the heavy rain. With all the noise, the walkers should be confused and disoriented but Clementine knows to never give away her position to the dead or alive. Careful to be aware of her surroundings, eye on the tree line, Clementine stays in the rain for what seems like hours. She fills her thermos to the top and takes big gulps, not surprised when she empties it. Wiping her hand down her face to get rain water out of her eyes, she sets the canister back down. She takes off her hat and sets it on her bag, then slips off her coat and sets it over the bag as well. The rain hard, she manages to wash her face and run her fingers through her hair until it doesn't feel like hay. When her thermos fills again, she caps it tight and slips it into her bag, putting her coat and hat back on. Adjusting the muzzle of the gun in her waistband against the small of her back, she slugs the backpack over a shoulder and adjusts it on her back.

Turning to check the way she came briefly, her heart catches in her throat. A car, headlights dim through the heavy rain, approaches fast. Blinking furiously, Clementine considers her options; hide or run or stand your ground. _They've already seen you, they'll chase you down if you run._

So what then?

_Be ready._

Fingers twitching at her sides, one hand slipping over her hip towards her gun, she watches the car slow down and roll to a stop beside her. Eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed into a tight line, Clementine glares at the man through his window as he rolls it down manually. His shoulder bumps into the car door. "Hey!" He says loudly, over the crash of rain.

Clementine narrows her eyes, twisting up her mouth but not saying anything. The man, shaggy-haired and looking hungry, looks up and down the road.

"Hey. Are you alright, little girl?"

"I'm not little."

"Right," the man grins crookedly. He's wearing glasses on his nose, one of the lenses spider-web cracked. It reminds Clementine of a pair of red-framed glasses she'd found under a dead walker once. "I haven't seen another person in forever!" Turning her eyes to the car, Clementine examines it with mild interest. More interest than she has in this conversation, this man.

"There are people every where."

"Well, yeah, but-" The man laughs, too nice for this time in this world. Fake. Clementine crinkles her nose. "Dead ones are every where. The living, they're the ones being scarce these days."

"No kidding." Clementine looks the man up and down, peering nonchalantly into his car. First at the man - old, stained clothes hanging on hollow limbs and a growling stomach. Then in the passenger seat, a map and a knife set on display. No gun. In the back are black milk crates though they're empty save for a few cans of... something. Clementine cocks her head. "Where are you going?"

"No where."When the girl raises her eyebrows disbelievingly, the man scoffs defensively. "Well, no where in particular." He takes up his map, leaving the large hunting knife in the seat next to him. Clementine eyes it momentarily, but then the man is pointing at his map. His cracked fingernail draws a connection from a red line to a dotted blue one adjacent to it. "See? We're here. I'm going here." He points to a grouping on the map though the name is unclear to Clementine. Map too faded, Clementine cannot read the name of the city, let alone remember geography for the life of her; school was years ago. "Was gonna go rooting for supplies. You'd be surprised what people leave behind."

"I know," Clementine says flatly, leaning back away from the window, no longer interested in the map.

The man regards Clementine for a short time, eyes on hers. By the look on his face, Clementine knows he's deciding her character. She's already decided his. He smiles suddenly. "Seems like you're headed that way too," he says. "Want to carpool?"

"I don't-"

"Come on." The man folds up his map and picks up his knife, placing both items in the glove box before patting the tattered seat next to him, eyes back on Clementine's over his pitiful glasses. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't talk to another person!"

While at first Clementine is inclined to refuse, the rain soaking through her clothes has grown uncomfortable and judging by the distance the man showed on his map, she wouldn't make it to the next town over until tomorrow. At least in the car she knows where her dangers lie. When she agrees, the man unlocks the passenger door from his side and Clementine comes around to get in. The heat is on, a luxury she'd nearly forgotten, and so she melts into the seat and rests her head back. The car engine revs as the man pulls off, his voice hard to hear over the roar of it. "Name's Bill, by the way."

"Clementine." 

"Really?" He smiles at her, eyes still on the road."That's a pretty name. I've never met a Clementine."

"I've met a Bill."

"Yeah?"

Clementine looks out her window, teeth moving harshly against the inside of her bottom lip. After a moment, she responds. "He hurt a lot of my friends. I watched one of them smash his head in with a crowbar."

"Oh."

Silence drags on for a while. As it lasts, Clementine enjoys it. If she keeps her forehead against the window pane and trains her eyes on the rain and passing forest passing by outside, she can pretend she's a little girl again. For the first in a long time, Clementine remembers her parents. The details of their faces, of their life together - all of it is lost now. But here she has a strange sense of nostalgia, pretending she's in the back seat of the family car. On the way to church, or on the way to buy groceries, or going anywhere. Clementine was behind her parents with her eyes closed now, drifting off as she always would when the ride proved to be everlasting.

Instead of being picked carefully out of the car and carried to her bed, Clementine hastens awake as the car comes to a slow stop. Not much time has passed, she can tell by the rain still pounding on the windshield and the dark sky untouched by new clouds or light. Turning her eyes to the man, to Bill, she frowns slightly. "Why are we stopped?"

Bill points at the fork in the road. "Can you check the map? You saw me put it in the glove box, right?"

Wordlessly, Clementine obliges. Her fingers brush the handle of the man's knife stashed away in there, sending bristles through her as she thinks about snatching it. Shy to the idea of being caught stealing it, she takes out the map instead and unfolds it. Frowning, she tries to read the lettering through the fade and tears. The best she can make out is where he'd shown her before, black words faded to white to match the background, she can only make out a few squiggles. She shrugs indifferently. "I can't read this," she tells him.

"Here," he shuts the car off, sending up red flags in the back of Clementine's head. She looks out the windows, scanning for any dead. Looking back to the map as Bill touches it, she watches as he drags his finger down the map. "See? Right here. Guess we have to go right."

"Okay," Clementine screws up her expression as he doesn't move other than taking the map from her hands, folding it and setting it in the glove box. His hand lingers, fingers stuck in the compartment in front of Clementine. She watches his hand closely. "Then let's go right."

All too fast, he snatches his knife from the glove box, bringing it immediately to the skin under Clementine's chin. She swallows hard, eyes lidded heavily and her eyebrows knitted together. Above all else, she simply looks displeased, even as Bill bares his teeth and presses the tip of the blade harder under her chin. A bead of blood forms around the sharp point. "Your shit." He says, voice still as friendly as when he'd first pulled over. "Put it in the back, please." When Clementine does not move, he presses further, harder. The girl tilts her head up slightly so that the knife does not break further past her delicate skin. "Now."

"All you Williams are the same," Clementine grumbles, dropping her shoulders without moving her head above the knife, wrapping her fingers around one of the straps of her backpack. Bill's lips curl at the remark, eyes flashing slight detest. Working not to change her expression, Clementine passes her backpack into the back seat, setting it on the floor behind the driver's side. Satisfied, Bill smiles and pulls his knife away. He keeps it brandished. "I'm going to make sure you end up the same, too."

"Real threatening, coming from the little girl with no weapons."

Clementine does not blink as he looks her over, muscles still even as he drags the edge of his blade gently over her chest, over one of her breasts. Her breath shakes only slightly as he draws the blade down her ribs.

"Now your clothes."

"Pig," Clementine jeers, though she pulls her shirt over her head obediently. Her hat tumbles down her back, settling on the floor with her shirt and undershirt. Torso exposed, Bill regards Clementine with not unkind eyes. "I'm not a pig," he says, voice soft as his eyes catch on Clementine's chest. "It's just been so long."

In the same instance he moves forward, hunting knife raised to his shoulder and his head craned downwards, Clementine catches the handle of her gun and swings her hand into his head, butt of her gun smashing into his temple and sending his glasses to the floor of the car. The man lets out a noise Clementine is sure will attract walkers, his chest heaving noisily as he rasps angrily towards her. She bashes his hand with the butt of her gun, the knife falling from his grip. Bill snarls, lunging over the center console at Clementine's bare chest.

Not sure if he's aiming to grab her or attack her, Clementine throws her hand back into him again, her knuckles landing a solid blow on the left of his face. A red mark swells messily under his eye but he pays no attention to it as he slams his hand forward. His palm meets Clementine's face, her head knocking hard against the passenger window, the gun clattering to the floor under her. She groans.

"Shit," he rasps, moving back so he can touch his fingers to the sore under his eye. Blood paints his finger tips. "You're strong for a little girl."

"Fuck you." She spits blood at him, throwing her foot over the console and into his shoulder, kicking him effectively enough. For safe measure, she lands another solid blow to his chest with her heel, bending into the dashboard to snatch up her gun as he wheezes, hand clutching at his ribs. She lines it up easily with his head.

"Shit," he breathes, back to the driver's door, hand searching desperately for the handle. "D-don't shoot! I was just-" The gunshot is loud and rings in her ears long after Clementine has pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in the side of Bill's stomach. Just as the bullet rips into him, he screams and finds the door handle, falling backwards into the road. The rain washes his blood onto the pavement as he screams, the dead turning their ears towards them for miles. Planning to not stick around and find out how long it takes him to die with his guts displayed on the road, Clementine climbs into the driver's seat over the center console and slams the door shut. Bill's glasses crunch under her feet.

"You can't leave me here!" Bill is screaming, arms wrapped around his waist, holding his insides where they belong. He's soaked in red even with the rain washing down on him. Clementine stalls, looking out the driver window down at this man that picked her up off the road. She considers, his blood pooling under him as he hangs onto a thread of life. "Help me!" He pleads, tears in his eyes, fat as Clementine's once had been. "Please- Don't leave me-"

Not the girl she was back then, Clementine does not think twice as she points the gun out her window. Her hand does not shake and she does not feel bad as her finger wraps around the trigger. "I'm not a little girl." She holds her breath, aim steady, and blows a bullet into the man's forehead. Clementine peels off before his skull cracks against the pavement, chunks of brain scattering under him. She does not think about it. It's all been done before.

Silently, as she finally pulls through the city limits of the closest town, Clementine pulls the car into an abandoned parking lot. She pulls on her almost dry clothes and replaces her hat. She finds the hunting knife and puts it in her bag, along with whatever she can find in the glovebox (the worn out map, a pair of firecrackers, loose bullets and a power bar), then rummages through the rest of Bill's belongings. There's a can of old Spaghetti-O's and a can of beans, along with a couple of candy treats. Anything she can take Clementine sets off with, leaving the blood of what just happened with the rest of the shit she's been through - behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Because we all know that Clementine is too badass to lay a finger on.


End file.
